Alone
by Lavender and Hay
Summary: AU which follows the events of Skyfall. Returned to work, M and Bond discuss what happened between them at that house.
1. Chapter 1

**For the sake of this story, a certain death which occurred during _Skyfall_ didn't happen, but nearly did. **

She had been away for nearly two months recovering,- they had said that she could have as long as she liked to recuperate but the mere implication that they were purposefully trying to keep her away had been enough to ensure a determined recovery- she had been back for ten minutes and already she had managed to irk him. Well, not so much irk as baffle him. But perhaps it was his fault. After all, it was him alone who had supposed that things might have changed between them, ever so slightly, given everything that had happened. Thinking she was going to die, thinking that she was dying before his eyes, he had taken her in his arms, held her and kissed her. Perhaps he was wrong in supposing that that constituted something fairly momentous between two people.

Clearly, it was entirely ordinary to M. The way she was behaving, you would have thought that they perhaps bumped into each other outside of work or nodded to one another on the stairs. She was maddening composed and impersonal. And dressed entirely in white, a matching thick silk scarf draped as a shawl over shoulders and the natural light in her restored office gleaming over her soft-looking- well, he knew it was soft now- hair completed the impression. Almost as if she had died, her appearance was angelic; until, that is, she looked up from her desk and the revealed the old look in her eye, the vaguely warped mixture of cold removal and the devil incarnate. Yes, she was the same as ever. Not a touch softer.

She clicked the lid back onto her pen and settled it with precise neatness in line with the her paper, looking at him as if only just noticing his presence.

"Well, 007," she addressed him as crisply as he remembered, making him almost feel as if he was the one who had been on a two month leave of absence and that she had been here all of the time, "It's good to see you again."

He inclined his head slightly, knowing there was not much else he could say to that. He might as well accept it without question or anything that could be construed as rebuff; it might be the most fully-formed complement that M ever paid him.

"And I must admit, Bond, there were times when I thought I wouldn't get the chance to. See you again, that is. And that it's largely, well it's all down to you, really, that I'm able to now."

Perhaps it was just the light, but looking up at her, he could have sworn that she looked that hint softer that he had missed before. She was almost smiling, even. Almost, but not quite. As much as she ever did at him.

He felt himself smile too, almost laugh even. It was absurd that he should feel like this now, at the height of proof that she ultimately what she felt for him was at best professional, at worst dismissive. Either that or she had great- great in the sense of astronomical- difficulties acknowledging her feelings. Well, she was a spy. And so was he. And I knew only that when he had held her in what little remained of the cold skeleton of his childhood, when he had thought she was dying, he had felt the most piercing, burning sensation of loss, everything eclipsed, as if he was dying there with her. This woman who could be so cruel, so merciless, so brutally beautiful and unwittingly tender in her weaker moments was leaving him and in his soul he could not bear it. The feeling had haunted him ever since he had kissed her. He had never kissed anyone as wholly, wanted to convey so much to them through silent lips as he had tried to in that moment.

She watched him.

"Have I said something amusing, Bond?" she wanted to know.

He cleared his throat.

"No, Ma'am. Will you require a formal debriefing about the mission at Skyfall?"

"I hardly think that will be necessary, I was there if you remember, and we were supposed to be under the radar."

He nodded curtly. He was rather glad she had said no, if he was honest. Too much talking about it might lead to inadvertent admissions on his part, and if she didn't want to ask him questions, he certainly wasn't going to volunteer answers. He got up prepared to leave.

"007?"

"Yes, Ma'am?"

"One thing has been puzzling me."

"About what happened at Skyfall?"

"Yes."

"And what would that be, Ma'am?"

"Oh, I think you know."

He felt his ears glow a little red, but kept his countenance, raising his eyebrows, inviting her to go on.

"Do you always kiss the women who die in your arms?"

And she could be unprecedentedly blunt at times.

"Not always," he admitted, "Generally."

He wondered if that was a flicker of disappointment in her eye, but given her next question he concluded that it wasn't.

"Why?" she asked, testily.

"Well," he shrugged his shoulders, his hands in his pockets, "That rather depends on the woman."

She snorted audibly.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Bond," she told him, unable to suppress a smile, "It just doesn't sound very much like you, that's all. If you don't mind my saying."

Well, he did mind. He imagined it showed in his face too, but he didn't care. He had destroyed his childhood home for her, ungrateful bitch, it didn't matter that he detested it, it was the first place he had known. He had risked his life to save her without so much as a second thought, he had tried to make what he thought were her last moments on earth bearable. And ever since, he had been haunted by images of her, her hand holding tightly to his jacket for comfort, looking into his eyes and trying to remain conscious, lying in hospital partly conscious, squeezing her hand around his fingers, and trying to tell himself that what he felt for her wasn't love of any sort, let alone the sort of love he felt might finally complete him. He loved her, and she was laughing at him.

It had showed in his face, and she had noticed.

"I'm sorry, Bond," she told him, sounding sincere, "I just wanted to know and I'm too shy to ask," now, he suspected, she wasn't being quite as sincere, "Why did you hold me like that?"

Suddenly, the toes of his shoes became very interesting.

"Why did you kiss me?"

He looked at her quite timidly.

"I didn't want you to die alone," he confessed, "I didn't want you to feel you were dying lonely."

"I knew I wasn't," she told him, almost briskly "You had just fought for my life. I couldn't have felt alone if I'd tried. But it was kind of you, Bond, all the same. To kiss me, that is."

And she smiled at him. He wanted to smile back, but he couldn't. It, along with any kind of coherent response, seemed to catch in his throat.

So he leant his weight over her narrow desk to where she sat and kissed her again, on the lips. She did not respond, but nor did she attempt to push him away.

He leant back and she looked down, as if examining the spot where he had kissed her.

"Why did you kiss me then?" she asked, her puzzlement barely disguised.

"Because I don't want you to have to live alone either."

"Oh, Bond."

It seemed that he had almost struck her dumb. Well, that was one thing at any rate.

But there was nothing else he could think of to say either, he had lain himself completely bare before her, his heart on his sleeves, with that one action, that one confession.

"Just think about it," he told her, making to leave, "Please think about it."

**Thank you for reading! Please review if you have the time. **


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you for your reviews, I have really enjoyed them. This was at first really only going to be a oneshot- I'm sorry I forgot to make that clear- but so many of you asked for more and I quite fancied writing some more.**

Really, by now she shouldn't be at all surprised to find him lolling about in her flat quite as if he owned the place, but somehow she still was. Perhaps she was growing naïve in her old age, as seen as that was what everyone increasingly seemed to think she was approaching. It was just that, since all of the business with Silva, the security around the place was supposed to have been stepped up. But since when had that made any difference to Bond? That, and the fact that she had thought, after what they had been through together and especially what he had told her the day she got back, that things might have somewhat changed between them, to the point where her finding him in her flat in the middle of the night put quite a different slant on things. But since when had that bothered Bond either?

She knew that he had noticed she here, though he was not looking at her, she hadn't put any more of the lights on and had closed the door quietly. He was lying on the sofa, facing away from the door, his jacket and tie on the floor beside him, and a glass of what looked like her best single malt in his hand. Bloody impertinence.

"Should you still be working so late?" he asked her, "Shouldn't you be recovering?"

She exhaled, crossing his line of vision to sit in her armchair so she could at least see his face.

"Should you be here at all?" she asked him levelly.

His slight shrug was impeded by the confines of the chair, his muscles visibly pushing against the leather.

"I thought it was what we did," he replied, "I go away, I survive, I come back here. That's always how it's been."

She couldn't really dispute that.

"The very least you could do is pour me a glass," she nodded towards the decanter.

Sitting up straighter, he reached to get her a glass, and she sank a little deeper into her chair as he pressed it gently into her hand. She took a drink, taking in half of the liquid in one go, then after another moment finishing it off. He watched her do so with half a raised eyebrow.

"Been that sort of day, has it?" he asked.

"You could say that," she replied, surprising herself by being honest with him, "One thing and another. Worrying about you getting yourself blow up, and embarrassing us all," she added hastily, covering up the brief moment in which she might have been too honest with him, "But, as you say, you survived," she told him, smiling slightly, "Well done, Bond."

He inclined his head a little. She thought perhaps he was embarrassed by her praising him openly, even if a little sardonically.

"Have you thought about it?" he asked, seeming to watch the knees of his trousers.

"About what?" she asked, genuinely taken aback, "About your surviving?"

He almost seemed to grimace.

"About what I said to you, the day you came back to work."

"Oh," she replied, "That."

Well, it would be a lie to say that she hadn't. She had always found Bond an attractive man, one of the most attractive men she'd ever met, in fact. And she herself was a reasonable, logical woman. Therefore, she had been able to deduce that the chances of him finding her attractive in return were slimmer than his gorgeously toned body. It didn't matter how she felt in return; whether she found him desirable, whether she cared for him or loved him, which she was sure she didn't, she had told herself she didn't, she couldn't possibly. Admitting she did would only lead to her getting hurt. He could have any woman he wanted, so why on earth should he even look at her? Whatever he said to her now, it would take a lot to convince her that it was more than just a boyish fantasy or infatuation. But the look on his face as he watched her, as he took in her silence, did a good deal towards opening her mind to the possibility.

"Why ask that now?" she wanted to know.

He shrugged again, shifting the arm that he was propping his weight up on.

"I wondered if perhaps you'd thought about it today. If anything had made you think. Like the likely chance of me getting myself blown up and embarrassing you."

"I didn't mean it like that," she told him, a little sharply.

He ignored her, waiting for her to answer the question he had asked her. She sighed.

"I have thought about it, yes," she told him.

"And what conclusion did you come to?"

"Mind your own bloody business."

He smiled openly at her. If anything it only infuriated her. No doubt he'd say that one of the things he loved about her was her sharp tongue.

"What happened to the girl?" she asked him suddenly.

"What girl?" he replied.

"Oh, don't treat me like I'm stupid, Bond," she told him, "Despite certain extraordinary claims you've made of late, you're yet to convince me that you're completely blind. Especially when you've been working undercover in the vicinity of a very pretty girl for the past few days. So what happened to her?"

He shrugged again, in a way that at first she found almost callous.

"She survived too. The bomb didn't go off, remember. Hence the lack of embarrassment."

This time she completely ignore that latter remark.

"No, I mean beforehand. Did you get to know her at all?"

She tried to say it without sounding overly personal or intrusive, which was nigh on impossible, so she resolved to try and sound as careless as possible while being as intrusive and personal as possible. And, she assumed anyway, she tried not to blush while knowing that he knew exactly what she was really asking him.

He smiled again, knowing she was curious.

"Not especially," he told her.

She raised an eyebrow, requesting, politely demanding elaboration.

"Not at all, really," he conceded.

Perhaps he was lying to her. He was a spy, after all, he was supposed to be convincing. But he had got up off the sofa, crossed to sit on the arm of her armchair, and before she could tell him to sit on the furniture properly when he was in her flat, her had cupped her face gently in his hands, lowered his lips to her forehead, kissed her, whispered;

"Why won't you believe that I only want you?"

In spite of herself, her hand was holding on to his strong wrist.

"Because you can't possibly," she answered him quietly, "You must be out of your mind, Bond."

"Perhaps I am," he replied, kissing her hairline, "But still, I've never felt more sane."

Oh, it was hard to concentrate with this beautiful man, resting his nose against her hair so she could hear his breathing. He planted a kiss above the top of her ear, and down on her jaw.

"Bond, you've got to give me time."

He sat back a little, his arms loosening from around her to rest on her shoulders.

"If you don't want me, if you don't want me at all, just say," he told her, sounding as if it was costing him dearly, "But I thought I was going to lose you and it's changed something inside of me. I can hardly explain. But if you really don't want me, tell me."

"It's not that," she told him, reaching her hand tentatively to brush along the lines of his face with pressing tenderness, "When you were in danger today, it felt, well, I've never worried about you or anyone else like that before. I think I almost might know how you felt that day at Skyfall. But, Bond, give me time."

"And then you'll say yes?" he asked, "You'll give us a try?"

"I didn't say that," she told him, after all there's much to consider. But I will think about it, Bond, I promise."

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	3. Chapter 3

"Are we talking sex?"

He looked up in some alarm. In fact, they had not been talking at all but sitting quite silently, each with a drink in hand.

"I'm supposed to be thinking about you and me. You and me how? Living together platonically? The occasional kiss or fuck when we need an itch scratching? Or are we talking regular sex?"

She couldn't believe it, she had made him blush. Either that or the warmth from the fire was affecting him more strongly.

"I had thought more of...-" he seemed unable to finish his sentence, and she was confused. She thought she had covered most possibilities.

"Of what?"

"Lovemaking," he told her, not looking at her face.

She had to admit that that statement made her pause for a moment with surprise. Very quickly, she found that they were looking at each other very intently.

"Oh, James," the words slipped from her mouth in a whisper.

Tonight was the first night they had discussed the issue so openly. Since the end of his last mission he had been presenting himself at her flat- never announcing his attention beforehand but somehow she always knew when she'd open the door and find him there- and they'd spend the evening together; companionably, on separate chair, each with a drink in their hand, never seeming to feel like they were more than inches away from each other.

Still, they were watching each other. Apart from the light of the fire, it was very dark and his profile was outlined with gold.

"Have you ever done it before?" she asked.

He looked at her pointedly, as if unable to believe if she'd really asked that.

"Well, I know you've... had girls," she told him, "But have you ever made love before? I'm sure I hadn't when I was your age."

He was quiet for a moment.

"I'm not sure," he admitted, "Why are you smiling like that?"

"Because if you're not sure if you have, then you can't have done," she told him simply, "You know, with me, it wouldn't be like with any of the young ones you've been with."

"I know," he assured her, "Because I'd be making love to you."

"No, I don't mean that," she told him, trying to keep a level head in the midst of all of the thoughts that statement had the potential to conjure up in her mind, "I mean because I'm an old woman. And I am, James," she spoke his name softly, willing him to understand her and take her seriously, "There's no getting around that fact."

"I know," he told her patiently, "And I've thought about it, and I can live with it. Please don't look at me like that, because it's true."

"I'm sorry, I just had you down as the last man alive to be turned on by white hair and wrinkles."

"I adore your hair," he told her seriously, "It makes you look literally like you've descended from heaven."

"I'm a post-menopausal dwarf," she told him bluntly.

"I've always like small women."

She snorted.

"You're not taking me seriously, James."

"And you're rather patronising me," he retorted, "Really, do you think I completely lack the ability to see past what you look like on the outside?"

"No, I'm just saying that perhaps you're not used to having to see past it."

"Point taken. But I want to. I want you, to be precise. I happen to find you very sexy. And you're just going to have to believe that."

She was quiet for a moment, looking into her empty glass.

"So, my next question is would we live together?"

He paused for a moment, wondering if the question was rhetorical.

"Do you want to live together?" he asked her.

"I don't want anyone to know about us," she confessed uneasily, "At least not at first, that is. You mustn't think that I'd be ashamed of you, James," she told him, "But I've barely got used to the idea myself, never mind everybody else knowing about us."

"I understand," he told her, "But that doesn't answer the question. We can live together or I can spend nights here and then go home, and either way no one would know. We're both good enough to stop anyone finding out. It really is a question of what you want? Do you want me here?" he asked her.

She bit her lip.

"Honestly, James, I don't know," she told him, "Not yet. I still need time to work that one out."

"It's a big step," he reminded her.

"It is," she agreed, "It would be foolish to decide anything now."

"Probably."

"Except...-"

"Except what?" he asked.

She was silent for a good few moments, watching the empty end of the settee where she sat.

"James, I want you to kiss me," she told him, quite suddenly but without sharpness, "I'm certain of that. You being here so many evenings... I know I feel safe with you, the thought of your arms around me, kissing me. Please kiss me."

He could barely disguise his grin. Standing up, he swiftly occupied the empty seat on the sofa beside her.

She was small in his arms, but for extra height he drew her onto his knee and she sat comfortably, barely any weight on his legs. Pressing her gently but firmly against the arm of the sofa, his arms around her, he pressed his lips snugly into hers, kissing her thoroughly.

"I like this," she whispered, as his lips moved away from her mouth to the side of her face, to her jaw, down her neck, "I really like this, Bond."

Her use of his second name sent a shiver down the back of his neck.

"Do you want more?" he asked her skin.

"Yes," she replied, "I want more."

**Please review if you have the time.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Sorry I haven't updated for a while, I've been stage managing a show all week and getting home very late. Thank you for all of your reviews and your patience. **

She was able for a while to lose herself in the sensations he was creating for her, her back pressed up against the side of the sofa, her head lounging onto the armrest as he undid the buttons of her blouse, buried his face in her collarbone and between her breasts. Her hand wound into his hair, pressing him closer.

It was only when he stood back, picked her up and carried her in the direction of her bedroom when she really thought about what was going on. First of all, she was perturbed that the attention that had been lavished upon the flushed skin of her upper body had been withdrawn. Then, it struck her, holding gently on to James' shoulder as he carried her effortless, that she didn't think she'd ever been this submissive in her life- especially not in this kind of situation. Especially not when the man she was here with was as young, as beautiful and as openly, ravishingly desirable as Bond was. For a moment it was severely discomforting.

But at the same time, she knew she had to let him do this, this time she had to let him take the lead. If what he said was true, about him wanting to make love to her, and having never made love properly before, she was going to have to let him. She had to admit the prospect was not altogether uninviting, despite how new it would be to her. As they entered her bedroom, she raised her head to nibble gently at his ear. In the back of her mind there was a kind of vague rightness about it; he was really making love for the first time and she was letting someone make love to her as she had never done before.

She felt herself being lowered backwards onto her bed, lain softly against the sheets. James was standing over her, an imposing and silent figure, if it had not been for the way he was watching her. It almost made a lump form in her throat; the look in his eyes was so tender. While she knew his intention was to make love, she didn't want to be treated like a porcelain doll.

"Come on," she told him quietly, "I want you."

"Oh, M," he told her, lying down on the sheets beside her, his arms reaching out to hold her hips, "I want you too. So much."

"Then have me," she told him, "Have me, Bond. I mean it, I doubt I'll ever make it this easy for you again."

His hands left her waist, undoing the last few buttons of her shirt, slipping it off her shoulders, reaching forward and cupping her breast on top her bra, flicking his thumb over her nipple through the silk and lace as she lay back down. She couldn't help bowing her head, moaning quietly. He stopped, moving further over her, and kissed her lips until her head returned to lying back against the pillow, and then he did it again. This time, her hips arched upwards to meet his.

"Shh, shh," he told her, his gently stroking the line of her hip to calm her.

"Please, James," she whispered, "Touch me properly. Touch _me_."

Giving the slightest roll of her hips, she left him in no doubt whatever of what she wanted. She heard him let out the softest of groans. He watched her intently, his hand moving to the zip of her trousers, undoing them, pushing them off by running his hands very thoroughly down her legs. She liked a man who could do things at ones, she valued efficiency in all things. The feeling and the exposure to the cool air of her bedroom made her shiver a little.

Moving back up her body, his hand dipped inside her red silk underwear, running the tip of his finger against her, once, twice, then stopped. She groaned, eyes closed, squeezing his shoulders tightly, trying to make him repeat his action. Nothing. Reluctantly, she opened her eyes and found him watching her.

"Did you mean us to end up here?" he asked her, a curious smile in his voice, "Did you plan this?"

"What?" she asked, confused for a moment, "No. Why?"

"The underwear you're wearing," he told her, "Asking me if we were talking about sex. It just seems like you had the whole thing set up."

"Well, I didn't," she replied shortly, "I'm as caught in the moment as you are."

That earned her another delicious brush, deeper this time, of his fingers.

"Oh, James," she moaned in frustration, her fists balled up against the front of his shirt, "Why do you keep stopping?"

She opened her eyes again. His hand still rested inside her knickers, cupping her groin.

"What's your real name?" he asked her, "The _real _one."

She paused for a beat, weighing up the chances of her having an orgasm against the security of the nation. Bloody duty.

"Mind your own business," she told him.

He paused too.

"Fine, then," he replied, withdrawing his hand from her underwear, "I will."

He rolled over, away from her, got off the bed, took his shirt, trousers and socks off and got under the covers.

"Goodnight, M," he told her.

"Fuck you, Bond."

"As far as I can tell," came his voice, "That's what was going to happen and then you lost interest."

Letting out a low growl, she put her hand on his shoulder and with all her strength, pulled him over so that he was lying flat on his back, she threw the duvet cover off, exposing his body to her, and straddled his waist. The look in his eyes told her that this was exactly the reaction he had hoped for.

"So you do want me, then?" he asked her.

"You absolute bastard," she told him, bending over and kissing him hard.

She felt his hands on her back, unfastening her bra, so that when she sat up again he could cup both of her breast and knead them hard. Groaning, she rubbed her centre against his beautiful body.

Struggling quickly, out of their remaining underwear, he reached for her hips again, ready to pull her back on top of him. He hesitated for a moment, but by now she was past the point where she wanted to wait, and she palmed his erection tightly, trying to make him share her sense of urgency. His hands still lingered by her hips, ready to draw her back to him.

"Like this?" he asked her.

"Oh, yes, please, Bond."

He pulled her back over him, her straddling him and sinking herself on to him. He filled her completely.

He kissed the corner of her face gently.

"Are you alright?" he whispered.

"I will be once you start to move," she replied.

He thrust deep into her.

"Like that?" he asked.

"Oh, yes, Bond. Like that."

He did it again, surging forwards. She felt her walls begin to contract. Her arms wrapped tightly around his body. His fingers slipped between them to fondle her and draw her closer to release, as he continued to thrust. They did not leave her until he had push her over the edge, her fingers digging as hard as they could into his back, her hips rocking into his so that he followed her soon afterwards.

They fell back onto the bed, her collapsing on top of him, their bodies still shaking.

"My God..." he whispered, his hand moving to stroke her hair.

"Oh Bond," she whispered, feeling the tender weight of his hand, "I love you."

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	5. Chapter 5

Him lying on his side and watching her face, she lay flat on her front. She preferred it that way, feeling the softness of the sheet against skin on the side of her head and the pressure of the mattress against her tired, satisfied body. Having just lit a tiny candle and placed it on the bedside table, he had returned to bed; and the warmth of the light fell on the exposed skin of her back, as his arm reached over to her and his thumb caressed the lines, the creases on the surface of her body. The feeling was tender, sensual and comforting in the stillness after their lovemaking. Her eyes moved up and met his, and the warmth between and around them seemed to swell. She felt her face press more firmly against the bedsheet as she smiled.

"I've turned you to religion, Mr Bond," she remarked wryly, remembering his words from earlier.

"I've turned you to love," he replied softly.

There was quiet for a moment, a very heavy quiet; the unasked question that they were both waiting for lingering somewhere in the following moments.

"I can't say that my conversion was all that permanent," he admitted. She smiled momentarily at his hesitation and his attempt at wryness and tact. "But did _you _mean what you said?" he asked her, his face very still.

"Of course I meant it," she told him, a little sharply. Though she had anticipated the question, she still felt a little annoyed that he even felt the need to ask. Perhaps she had lied to him before, but always because it was what there work had demanded of her, never a personal lie. Before now, they had never really acknowledged that there were personal lies between them to tell. "Why?" she asked, "Did you think I'd just said it because you'd given me the most wonderful sex I can remember? I didn't think we were going to be like that, James."

"I'm sorry," he told her, "But I had to ask," there was a slight pause, "I've heard it before."

She let out a heavy sigh, reaching her hand forward to brush softly down the centre of his chest.

"No, I'm sorry, James," she murmured, "I'd forgotten that you're new to... well, to this side of this side things, I suppose."

They exchanged a small glimmer of a smile, partly at the half-eloquent way in which she was trying to express herself, partly at the tiny sense of resolution they had reached.

"So you meant it, then?" he asked, not really posing the question, more trying to illicit the response he already knew from her lips again.

"Yes, James. I love you."

Bowing his head to her level, he kissed her softly and slowly on the lips. When the broke apart he was definitely grinning.

"What?" she asked, shifting to lie on her side too, facing him.

"The most wonderful sex you can remember?" he challenged her, "You meant that too?"

This time, she thought, he certainly knew the answer to the question.

"What do you think?" she asked sternly, running an appraising hand across his chest.

"I think there's a lot more where that came from," he told her, kissing the top of her head.

"Oh, I do hope so."

Her arms drifted to his sides, hugging him close to her, her legs shifting open a little to twine around one of his, pulling them closer together.

"I think we have a lot to look forward to together," she told him firmly.

"Together?" he asked, "Obviously I know we're going to stay together like this," he told her hurriedly, seeing the flash of panic in her face as she misinterpreted his question, "But are we going to be publicly?"

She bit her lip.

"Perhaps I shouldn't be the one to answer that one," she concluded after a moment, "Or we'll be waiting forever for a decision."

"That's because you have more at stake than I do if people knew," he reminded her gently.

"You have your reputation to think of too," she pointed out, "Not necessarily the same kind, but I imagine you'll lose all credibility if it gets out that you're sleeping with an old woman like me."

"A lot of richer, more powerful men than me would gladly exchange places to wake up beside you," he pointed out, "You can't deny that."

"I don't, but they're all old and ugly and unforgivably dull," she replied, "Anyway, I think I'd have good cause to fear for my life again if people knew we were together. Every woman in London would want to assassinate me."

He laughed.

"And I'd have to save your life again," he finished for her, "And hold you in my arms, and kiss you."

She smiled softly, knowing what he was getting at as his hands moved to hold her a little tighter, bringing her ever so slightly closer to his body.

"So here we are, then," she surmised, a little ironically, "Two of the most envied people in the country."

They were still and quiet for a few moments, the only movement was of her head, leaning forwards to rest against his chest.

"I adore you, you know," she told him, feeling brave, "Whatever we decide to do."

"I love you too," he told her, "And you're never going to be alone again. You'll have me."

**End.**

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